


Cosmic Brownie Bites

by Barkour



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brothers, Comedy, Gen, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-07 14:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: Short and silly bits of fic after Ragnarok.





	1. Firstborn Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki used to be twins.

Once the heart to hearts had started they didn't really stop. 

"You know, I liked when we were twins," said Thor wistfully. 

They were the two of them hog tied over a boiling nothingness in the engine room of the Great Conqueror’s vessel, and Loki rather thought they'd more pressing concerns.

"We were never twins," said Loki. 

"We were twins for most of our lives," said Thor, "and it was wonderful." 

"You only think that because Father said you were the eldest and you liked to hold that over my head. As if," Loki added, "four minutes was even a significant gap."

"Oh, whatever." Thor shrugged massively and Loki swayed on the rope. "Mother always spoiled you. Said you were her darling little bird. She never did that to me, you know. Because I was the oldest." 

Loki felt that strange mixture of pride and sorrow he always felt when he thought of Frigga, their mother. Whatever he'd felt for Odin, that anger, that want for approval, that guilt and that toxic blending of love and hate, he'd never felt such muddled poison for Frigga. Frigga, who was mother, unconditional.

"What would she think of us now," said Loki.

Thor bumped his shoulder against Loki's. They both of them went into a spin. 

Grunting, Thor said, "Well, I think she'd be proud of us. Current circumstances notwithstanding." 

"This is your fault, by the way."

Thor laughed, which Loki bumped _him_ for. 

"I used to hope we'd get that psychic connection you hear so much about," said Thor. "You know, that twins thing?" 

"You wouldn't want to be inside my head," said Loki darkly.

“Likely not," said Thor affably. "You used to stare after Sif a lot." 

"That isn't what I was implying," said Loki. 

"I mean, you were constantly staring after her," Thor went on. “Just absolutely all the time ogling her with your eyes all bwee-wee, bugged out."

"I was implying that I had dark thoughts!" said Loki. "Treacherous thoughts! I’m a complicated trickster, forever scheming!" 

Thor nodded. "Yes, scheming on how to get a better look at Sif's ass.” He chuckled. "You dog!" 

His heart thick with venom, Loki said, “I hope we both die now." 

"Into this world together," said Thor cheerily, "out of it too."

To Loki’s regret, they survived.


	2. Betty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banner forgot Betty, but the Hulk remembered.

And when the Hulk made smeared guts of all the challengers thrown to him in lots, the Grandmaster exalted him and took him into the Grandmaster’s house. 

They bathed him, the slim persons in glittering cloth that served the Grandmaster directly of their hands, with hot water and pungent soap and lastly scented oils that made the Hulk sneeze and roar. 

The Grandmaster laughed his delight and clapped as the pretty things scattered from the Hulk, who stood naked in the center of a grand room of strong metal and high windows. 

“Fantastic,” said the Grandmaster. He looked at the Hulk as a father, indulgent, might a child. The Hulk did not like fathers. “You really are something else.”

The angry girl had come with them. She looked sleekly between the Grandmaster and the Hulk. Her dark eyes were like the glimpse of fire between billowing waves of black smoke and thick ash. The Hulk thought this without words. 

“Who Hulk kill now?”

The angry girl smiled. It showed her teeth as she turned to the windows. The tail of her hair swept over her shoulders, and the Grandmaster was saying:

“Kill? Who said anything about killing? No, now you rest, my beautiful champion. Feast! Drink! Be merry! You have truly proven yourself these last few weeks. It’s sort of a rapid advancement, but hey: when you find talent, real talent, you can’t just let that go to waste.”

The Grandmaster talked too much. The Hulk considered telling him this; but outside the windows the bright light of day had dimmed to a stormy darkness, illuminated by the holes torn from the sky. In the low cells, no windows.

So the Hulk only grunted. 

“Anything you want,” the Grandmaster went on. “Except, of course, it barely bears mentioning, your freedom, but other than that. Anything at all that you so desire, I, your benevolent guardian, will give to you. So what can I start you with? How about a twenty course meal? Your pick of the harem, although I must warn you, size may be an issue.”

The angry girl had cast a leg, stretched before her, on the sill; the other boot was planted firmly on the ground. She’d a bottle in hand, taken from the glass rack of stylized decanters. Only the suggestion of her jaw showed. She, too, looked out the window at the darkening sky, the slow-spiraling debris that surrounded each bridge.

The Hulk said, “Betty.”

“Ah, excuse me? Betty?” The Grandmaster glanced between the guards posted at the door. They showed him similar bafflement. “Is that a, a cocktail? A sort of pet?”

“Hulk want Betty!”

“Well, go find a betty,” the Grandmaster scolded his guard. “If a betty is what our incredible Hulk wants, then a betty is what he shall have.”

The Hulk rumbled in his chest. He wanted to smash at the walls, to tear up the sconces. They had cheered for him in the arena, all those strange alien faces lit with joy to see the Hulk: to see his strength: to see him win! 

In a flurry of directions and declarations, the Grandmaster at last took his leave. Bowed at the neck, the Hulk breathed heavily. His fists, they clenched rhythmically. 

A hand brushed his arm. Snarling, he swung a fist in a decisive floor-ward punch at whoever was stupid enough to touch him, Hulk. The angry girl only caught his fist on her bracer and redirected the blow so he staggered.

The Hulk bared his teeth at her. Angry girl only snorted. She held a fresh decanter high, a glass jug as big around as the Hulk’s forearm.

“Drink helps,” she advised. “When you’re remembering a woman.”

She tossed the jug to him. The Hulk caught it in his palm, his meaty fingers curling lightly along the curved edge. 

“Forty percent of all that alcohol is mine,” called the angry girl as she left. “Tithing. Since I delivered you here.”

“Hulk do it alone,” he said. “No delivery. Only Hulk!”

She spun on her heel. She’d symmetric white circles painted delicately beneath her eyes. A low thing in the Hulk stirred; if it Banner, he would choke it.

Pointing two fingers at him she said, “For-ty per-cent,” and she smiled, as joylessly as the Hulk felt standing there with ten gallons of harsh-scented booze in hand, there in the midst of the Grandmaster’s generosity and splendor. 

After the angry girl had gone the Hulk was alone. He weighed the decanter. He thought of Betty. Banner, he forgot Betty when he looked at the red-haired spider, but the Hulk, he didn’t forget. The Hulk never forgot. The Hulk remembered. 

His nails were close trimmed. The gilded slaves had done a fine job of cleaning the gore out from under them.

The Hulk broke off the top of the jug and drank.


End file.
